Love
by sm-exery
Summary: Post DMC1. Mundus creates a Vergil for Dante while he regains his health, but his definition of family is a bit off.
1. Home

Posted this on AFF first because I wanted to see if people would like it, but that was a dumb move because people never tell you shit on that site so. So if you read it there first, note that no stealing happened.

No warnings for the first few chapters, but if you plan to read on you'll eventually find these to be applicable: Every type of abuse there is, repeated murder, mindfuck, mild gore, quasi-incest—any rainbows and unicorns you may see here exist only to be brutally murdered. Enjoy, sick fucks.

* * *

><p>He'd only had three drinks. So why the hell was Vergil standing at his door?<p>

"…Fuck," he said. Then, in compensation for the lack of vocabulary, "holy shit."

Vergil made a vague expression of disdain.

And it was all completely _Vergil_; his face, his scorn, the blood on his clothes. It was the monster in full and Dante thought that today was perhaps the best day of his life. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Wouldn't be the first time he'd imagined this, though usually he'd be dead by now. Wouldn't be his brother without the attempted murder after all.

But Vergil continued standing there and Dante watched him with unblinking eyes, afraid that the illusion wouldn't last.

Was it Christmas or something? …Fuck. Fuck, it was. It was Christmas and Vergil was standing in his doorway, gift wrapped in ribbons of blood—and there was something surreal about the euphoria that choked up his throat, maybe the way it made him want to bawl his fucking eyes out. Fuck. Santa really had it down this year.

"…How," he managed. His tongue felt extra dry. Maybe it was all the drinking.

"A bearded man in liquid red," Vergil replied, and, shit, was that a joke? It was _definitely_ the drinking.

Dante laughed anyway, but found that it wasn't a good idea when his voice started to crack. "You killed him?"

"No," Vergil said, then invited himself through the doorway, "you did."

Mundus.

Mundus was dead, Vergil escaped. Even if Dante remembered killing him too, but apparently bodily explosions didn't mean a whole lot to stubborn fucks. Seemed like one of his asshole qualities finally paid off for him—or, something. Something that made sense, preferably, though that was becoming harder and harder to come by.

"I'm drunk," he rationalized. Absinthe wasn't something to take lightly, he knew that now. Okay. He finished having his epiphany, so why hadn't Vergil disappeared yet? "Joke's over, man. Go poof or something."

Vergil was close now, and Dante didn't realize he'd been teetering backwards until his chair nearly lost balance. "Is that what you want?"

No.

Fuck, no, not at all. This whole thing might be complete bullshit but he—

—Mundus was alive, wasn't he, and he probably thought it'd be funny to screw with his head. If that asshole thought he was some sort of lonely orphan who would do anything to get his family back, well—yeah, pretty much, that was why Trish worked so well. There was a thing called 'too good to be true' though, and a Vergil who wasn't here to kill him? Really pushing the limit here—

But he'd still get on his knees and beg for the illusion to stay. Dying sounded okay right now. Yeah, he'd regret it when he was sober, but—but if he died then he wouldn't get a chance to be sober, so fuck that rationality.

"I'm going to cry," he announced, just in case he did. He also grabbed his half finished bottle, just in case Vergil started flickering because he wasn't drunk enough to maintain the fantasy.

Vergil was rounding the table now, in a real body that was really _there_—and yeah, he could have hallucinated him putting the chair back down on all its legs, but definitely _not_ the embrace that followed. There was a limit to how amazing a dream could be.

"I'm not here to kill you, Dante." He could feel Vergil's breath on top of his hair. "Merry Christmas."

That was the saddest reason to feel merry he'd ever heard of.

Maybe that was why he erupted in laughter, though if he didn't stop soon he predicted it would turn into sobs. He was going to die, he knew it. Some time in the next ten seconds he was going to hear about how foolish he was for believing in miracles then receive a sword through the chest, and fuck, that would suck. But if he sat back and got killed without pretending—just for ten seconds—that the embrace was real?

That would suck the most, so Dante hugged back for all he was worth.

And he was worth a lot.

"Merry Christmas," he laughed into the crook of Vergil's bloodied arm, "shit." Or maybe he was crying now, but he'd called it.

A grown man crying, in the arms of a murderer, and waiting to die?

Best day of his life.


	2. Family

I've had this chapter completely done for at least three months, but never posted it because I didn't like it and opted to change it. And then I completely forgot about it.

So now I'm just going to go ahead and post this even if I didn't change shit. Hope you'll still enjoy?

**Semjaza** - Fuck yeah mind fuck. Hope you like physical fuck too because this will get there, just not in the way most people like.

**ladysubaru83** - Not yet.

**netherlady** - Thank you, glad you liked it~

**JeSuisLeGenius** - I can't tell whether you're being sarcastic or not but I'm going to assume the positive and thank you for the ego boost.

If you have this on fav/alert, please leave a review-I'd like to see why you're interested.

And in complete irrelevance, if anyone wants to write badfic for a good cause, go to my profile and check out the horror.

Since we no longer have fucking hyphens I'm just going to use two bars to separate the story from the notes.

* * *

><p><strong>Family<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Family,<em> Mundus had told him. _That is what orphans want._

It had been strange; thinking of a grown man as an orphan. One that had managed to defeat a being as powerful as his master, at that.

_He still wears his mother's necklace,_ Mundus had continued, disgusted, _do you know how many of our kind he has killed? More than an island full, Vergil._

_He is a grown man and a murderer and he still wears his mother's necklace._

And there it was; the petty trinket, on full proud display. It was large and awkward and if he hadn't been taught that the real Vergil had also harboured one, he would've told Dante to take it off. Nothing to do with his mission—he just didn't enjoy looking at tasteless things.

Dante. He found it hard to believe that such a pathetic creature could have even survived against his master. He'd been told to prepare for a fight; Dante was strong, while he had been made weak to prevent possible rebellion. Instead, what he received was the danger degenerating in his counterfeit kindness—he was surprised, but Mundus had been right after all. The mightiest of hell was just another desolate child.

Five minutes and he already felt like this mission was below him.

"Devils never cry, Dante." It sounded flimsy, but he'd seen the phrase flickering outside so his dear brother probably didn't think the same.

Dante laughed a bit harder at that. Cried a bit harder too, if the wetting of his sleeve was any indication. "I know, smartass." At least his words had some sort of bravado in them. "It's the name of my shop. Glad you like it."

Vergil kept silent. He worried that it might not have been a Vergil-like thing to do when Dante lifted his head—arms still circled around him, how depressing—confusion in his reddened eyes.

"I'm still alive," he blinked. Then he blinked again, and then snorted with incredulity, an eyebrow raised. "And I'm not even trying. You're losing your touch, Verge."

That—was significantly complicating. Was he suspicious because he did not attempt to kill his brother on sight?

"I'm not here to kill you," he repeated, cautiously. Dante didn't seem to believe him. He sighed. "I was mad for power, then I was mind controlled. I've woken up, Dante." He looked his brother dead in the eyes. "I've changed."

The room was quiet.

"Oh," Dante said. And nothing else.

…_Are you serious—_

"Want some pizza?"

Apparently he had misjudged the difficulty of this mission, because it took all of his will power to not smack either Dante or himself on the head.

He smiled, to the best of his ability. "Sure."

* * *

><p>Vergil was an asshole.<p>

He was an asshole for not being enough of an asshole. Cruelty, that's what it was.

If he kept acting so nice—he _ate pizza_ with him, goddamn—Dante might actually start believing that this was real, and then? And then he'd just be setting himself up for some serious devastation. Getting his own hopes too high and over the rainbow he'd forget that Vergil had never been on his side. Vergil had better try to kill him soon, because betrayal was a bitch to get through. At least now he was still relatively prepared to face it.

Or maybe he should allow himself to dream for once. He'd been all ready to die back there, so what did he give a fuck about getting stabbed in the back? On the off—_off_—chance that Vergil wasn't bullshitting him, he was just wasting time being all sad and paranoid when he could be throwing parties and enjoying the miracle.

Deep thought had never been healthy for him, anyway. He'd deal with the consequences when they came.

"Hey, bro," he said, and screw it if he couldn't get that pubescent grin off his face—it just felt damn great to call him that and _mean_ it—"wanna hug?"

Vergil frowned—and okay, that kind of hurt, but he was still jittery as hell and Vergil's stick up the ass had never stopped him before anyway—and crossed his arms over himself. He was a genius at unintentional mockery, seriously. "That's childish."

Rejecting the easiest chance to kill him? Really? Dante pointed to his gigantic smile. "I'm a child. So hug me again, big brother."

Vergil sighed in irritation—asshole, now wasn't the time to be prissy—before actually complying.

He actually complied.

Dante's smile nearly dropped off his face.

Half because the hug could turn into a hug of death very soon, and half because he was suddenly bombarded with that choking elation again; so much sheer joy and relief that it had to be converted into something bitter, because his face couldn't handle the resulting grin. Too late for that, anyway. Crap. He didn't want to sob again, he wasn't that drunk anymore. He needed to think about something shallow.

Like all the trivial shit he wanted to do with Vergil. He wanted to celebrate holidays, drink pizza, get smashed together. Watch TV, watch porn together—okay, that was kind of creepy, but shit—_everything_. Anything.

He vaguely realized that he was digging into Vergil's back like some sort of deprived baby, but that was what he was and Vergil deserved a little pain for being such an insufferable asshole anyway. And for trying to kill him, he guessed—even if Vergil said both times were only because he'd been crazy, even if he seemed the craziest right now, participating willingly in this unsavoury human celebration ritual. And Dante was still alive. It was weird.

It was also heart wrenchingly wonderful beyond all else, which was why he pulled away. Two times crying in one night? He'd gone without for a decade before this. And Vergil hated weakness. He'd probably kill him or leave, so if Dante could help it, neither was going to happen.

He straightened, and the grin was a whole lot easier to keep off now. Harder to keep on.

"You want the guest room?" A stupid question, but Vergil didn't seem the least bit surprised. Prick.

"That'd be good."

So Dante showed him upstairs. Passed the bathroom and remembered—how had he even forgotten?—that Vergil had blood smeared all over him and would probably like a shower. Vergil accepted, so Dante went to set up the guest room, dusted off a pillow, straightened out the sheets. Threw some clothes at the bathroom door when he realized Vergil had nothing to change into. Man, he hadn't felt like such a housewife since Trish lived here.

He also hadn't felt so damn good.

"Dante."

He turned, and Vergil was at the doorway, all clean and dry and Vergil-like. And in dressed in red, oopes.

Not that he seemed to mind, because the next thing he said—with all the sincerity in the world—was, "Thank you."

Dante wondered how many best days of his life he was going to have.


	3. Heal

I typed up this chapter long ago, hated the shit out of it, etc. The one you'll be seeing now is a complete rewrite, but Dante did have some snarky thoughts I had fun typing out that would no longer fit so if anyone wants to see what went on there, I've linked it in my profile.

**Semjaza **– Your reviews make me want to cry, in happiness. And yeah you made a lot of sense—you've pretty much got it down lol. Thanks for the review!

**Lahria** – I already told you how I spun in my chair joyfully I think, thank you once again for your awesome as fuck review.

**ladysubaru83** – Nah he doesn't feel like it.

**target-in-the-finder** – Thank you so much baby~

The irony is that I don't like this rewrite either, but if I don't get this transition chapter up I'm never going to move on so. Enjoy, hopefully. I guess if you read the original version you can tell me which one you prefer and I might replace this again or something.

* * *

><p><strong>Heal<strong>

* * *

><p>Vergil was bleeding.<p>

Verg was bleeding like his stomach was on a period and Dante thought for the first time that maybe taking a sword up the stomach every other weekend was a great hobby. If Vergil had gone through it more, he might've gained the same immunity Dante had.

Or maybe that made no sense whatsoever, but Vergil _not healing_ didn't make shit sense either. He really wasn't healing. And they were both just standing there, watching it spill.

"…Whoa," Dante observed. Vergil's glare deepened at his astounding vocabulary, or maybe he was just trying to stay conscious.

_That_ part Dante observed properly. His brain scrambled for solutions—let's see, what did he do when he got royally fucked up? Walked away and pretended it never happened? Shit, he did. Then…bandages. Did he have any first aid? Did he _know_ any first aid?

…Vergil was screwed.

"_Dante_," Vergil grounded out. Dante wanted to ask him why he was having a problem with this since he was dead and all, but then again dead brothers didn't usually go shopping with you and then attempt to kick your ass when you got home. Only to end up sucking a lot more than when he was mind controlled, too.

And then he realized that he was still watching his brother bleed instead of doing anything about it.

"At least it didn't go all the way through," he joked helpfully, for the off chance that Vergil might appreciate the cheer up while he was dying. It didn't work, though he chalked it up to Vergil being a prude again. "Look, stay here, I'll see if I have any bandages or something." Not that he expected him to move. He was staying right here.

Vergil was staying right here.

A thought, unbidden, flashed through his mind—and just as quickly, he discarded it and pretended it never happened. Because he already knew that all it took was a little blood, and little pain, and Vergil wouldn't ever be walking out the door.

But he didn't buy him clothes so that he could dress him for his third funeral, so Vergil was going to live. Vergil couldn't take death anymore.

Not like how Dante could.

* * *

><p>Vergil was wearing an apron.<p>

Vergil was wearing a fucking apron and he was baking something, baking _pizza_, one hand holding up the cookbook he'd made Dante buy as the other did something magical to a second slab of dough. The first was in the oven. It wasn't burnt.

"…Am I drunk again?"

Vergil was clearly having trouble standing straight with the badly bandaged cut in his stomach, but stood straight anyway because he was a pompous bastard though Dante was seeing that term in a whole new light. Seriously, was he drunk? Was he dead? It couldn't be Hell because there was pizza involved, but it couldn't be heaven because it was completely terrifying.

Vergil looked up and brushed a hand on the apron that Dante couldn't get over he was wearing, an unsettlingly non-murderous expression on his face. And then he smiled, and Dante swore he heard kids screaming somewhere. Or maybe that was his brain in high pitched astonishment.

"I wanted to apologize," Vergil started suddenly.

Dante wondered if stabbing his stomach somehow did something to his brain.

"I wanted—I felt weak," he continued, "I wanted to see if I could fight again." He smiled once more, but it was bitter. "I see that I can't…"

"Whoa, come on, don't say that!" The words were out before he could stop them and he realized too late that he'd have to follow up with lies. "You know you're a great fighter, Verge. That'll never change."

Except it did. Everything about him had changed.

Besides his glaring fetish, but even that only lasted for a second before he sighed and turned back to his cooking. And now that Dante wasn't distracted by pizza and that weird as fuck apron, he could see that Vergil was even making soup.

Damn.

Time to not piss Vergil off. "Let's see this awesome soup you're making," he grinned as he made his way over to the stove. And it wasn't even the side closest to the pizza. If Vergil wasn't going to be cheered up, he should at least be damn proud. "Hell yeah, I smell tomato…"

"An ingenious deduction." His eyes didn't even bother flicking to him for the unimpressed look, the asshole.

He did however lift his head slightly when Dante reached over to take the cover off the pot. "Don't touch that."

"Come on," Dante laughed.

And then he stopped laughing.

He was yelling, screaming, and his only coherent thought was that he was glad it wasn't as high pitched as the apparent premonition in his brain from before. He also noticed that it was indeed tomato soup, or maybe he was just seeing red everywhere because Vergil looked quite red right now. It was a good colour on him.

"_Don't touch that_," Vergil said, his words seeming to lag a thousand hours behind, and fuck, _fuck_ if he didn't almost stomp Vergil right on the toes for speaking so slowly. But Vergil would live with that forever and he wasn't about to cripple his brother for life.

"I'm not touching anything!" Except he was. He was touching the goddamned _stove_ and he could feel his arm _parting_ around the coils, Vergil's hand pressing him so deeply into it there was no way he wasn't burning too. Except he wasn't. His hand was safe between two steaming coils.

_I need to get an electric stove_, Dante suddenly thought.

Vergil was unrelenting. Dante tried to remember why he'd thought for a moment that it was a good quality in any sort of way as his arm seared—bright, flaming agony coursing through the marrow of his bones, and he had another nice little thought that Vergil must've been slaving away on this meal for a while now if it was hot enough to disfigure a limb over. What a guy.

Dante needed to stab him again some time.

Suddenly, his arm was lifted—half-melted skin peeling off the coils and regenerating uselessly with every tear—and the pain was gone, leaving only the thundering in his chest as his brain attempted to catch up with how he was no longer burning.

"You need to listen, Dante," Vergil was saying, "Or you'll get in trouble. I learned that the hard way."

Because cooking his brother with his dinner made him the voice of reason, but he sounded so goddamned sincere that Dante let it go. Also because he still wasn't thinking right.

"Do you understand?"

Dante blinked, feeling the wheels slowly turn in his head. Understand? Yeah. He did.

Lesson learned; buy an electric stove.


	4. Care

UPDATING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT for once in my life. Thank you so much to the people who reviewed—my motivation was through the roof, seriously. No amount of anything made me as happy as you guys did.

**Aldalena** - Thank you so much! Updated partly for you baby~

**Semjaza** - —Holy _fuck_, just watched the show you mentioned, wasn't expecting it to be so intensely amazing beyond words. Thank you so much for unintentionally (or otherwise) telling me about it. And there's no good way to say "I'm glad you experienced turmoil" but seriously, thanks for telling me about that too. I was jumping my fist in the air for a whole minute just grinning at that you enjoyed it. :D

**Lahria** - And this isn't a second day :D I'm really glad you liked it! I'm glad three people liked it at all actually, I thought it was a boring chapter. You'll see the extent of Vergil's dickness in this one. And it's not pressure man, it's sheer joy when someone tells me that they like what I'm doing. ;_;

One thing I'm uncertain of is if I rushed this chapter (in narrative, not in update speed). I just wanted to get this transition shit over with (you'll see what I mean)—I hope the first few paragraphs make it clear enough what's been going on.

* * *

><p><strong>Care<strong>

* * *

><p>It was nice day today, Dante noticed as he bled out onto the floor.<p>

Besides that fly on the wall. He wanted to make Vergil go and grab it but Vergil was busy making pizza, or sweeping out the table that had broken into bits when Dante had smashed into it. Whichever one. Having a housewife was great.

Once his sense of smell and hearing returned to him, he was disappointed to see Vergil standing in the doorway and not tending to his house or stomach, but he figured he'd let it go in lieu of the past wonderful week he'd spent being lazy to the maximum. Instead, he pointed to the fly on the wall.

"Can you get rid of that?"

Vergil did.

Fuck being a housewife; he was a lot more like his mom. Guess after being dad didn't work out he chose the next best thing—which really should've been the first best thing but he was learning not to argue with Vergil's logic—cleaning, cooking, making him eat his vegetables and forcing him into a healthier lifestyle. It was sweet, in a creepy and extremely annoying kind of way, but Dante really did appreciate it and he was trying to show that now by hiding the smug grin on his face as Vergil slaved for him yet again.

"Dante."

"Hm?"

"Take a shower."

Dante rolled lazily onto his side. He'd never known how comfortable the floor could be now that it was clean enough to bear touching, if one ignored the blood that had pooled over the wood. He had a brother to clean that up anyway so he couldn't care less.

Said brother was glaring now so fine, he got up. After a moment. But he did eventually and it was the effort that counted so whatever, let Vergil take out his dissatisfaction on the floorboards. Not his problem.

Life was great these days.

* * *

><p>The shower was refreshing. So were the clean house and the food.<p>

Dante wondered if his brain was suffering from refreshment overdose because there was no way he had heard right. Vergil even had that annoyingly parental expression that had no business being there in conjunction with what he'd just asked.

"Dan—"

"You came back from the dead to _get laid_?"

Vergil looked slightly offended at his outburst but Dante didn't have anything in him at the moment to control the sheer incredulity. It was bullshit, complete bullshit, and—it really was all about Vergil, wasn't it? Because Hell didn't have enough mirrors? Because even Vergil couldn't manage to jam his dick up his own ass so he had to settle for the next best thing?

"Those are completely separate conquests," Vergil said with all the rationality in the world, as if he was making perfect sense. Except he was. And that was exactly why it was so mind-blowingly confusing.

Dante made to confirm his astonishment but his brain wasn't nearly coherent enough to coordinate. Just—what the fuck. What the fuck? Fuck? Vergil?

"Dante…"

"I—am I drunk again?" His lungs couldn't seem to decide between laughing and hyperventilating. "Are _you_ drunk?" It was the only rational explanation even though he'd never thought in a million years that Vergil would drink, so maybe he was high instead. Both were a lot more pliable than his brother _asking him to have sex_. "So maybe I should stop worrying about killing your ass because you'll just be back buying groceries? Am I going to find you working at the pet store the next time you jump into Hell?"

Vergil had the audacity to look guilty at that, which in turn made Dante feel guilty as he realized he was laughing uncontrollably. "There won't _be_ a next time," he glared. Wistfully.

And that sent Dante laughing so hard he swore he could feel tears coming out of his eyes as his chest pounded in thirty different contradicting emotions, because Vergil was going to kill him now and it was all his fault and god, that was hilarious.

But Vergil turning around wasn't.

And then he realized that his brother had just offered a very personal part of himself and Dante had turned it down without a second thought, like it was the joke of the century—which as far as he knew that was exactly what it was but—fuck. He hadn't meant to ridicule him.

"Wait," he called, and it was surprisingly easy to take the laughter out of his voice, "Vergil!"

Vergil continued walking away, and Dante instantly remembered everything he'd done for him the past week and shit, how did Vergil put up with him? Maybe he'd just been testing if he should bother, and now Dante had screwed it up and he was leaving. He'd never cared, and Dante didn't give him any reason to.

Shit.

He never realized how hard it was to run three feet, but it took all of his willpower to do that and grab Vergil's arm. "Wait!" And next was the hardest thing in the world, mostly because he actually meant it. "Sorry, okay?" He tugged him towards the stairway. "Come on."

There was no good way to say _yes brother, you may have sex with me_ so he hoped Vergil got the hint. He couldn't remember why the hell he'd even freaked out like that. Sex was great, or so he'd heard. What was wrong with having it with Vergil?

_Everything_, his mind flashed, but he ignored it. His mind didn't know shit.

"…Dante," Vergil started, "don't do this out of obligation." He did turn, then, and something was off in his solemn expression but Dante ascribed it to his brain's deduction problems. "I want you to say yes as my brother."

Because that made everything perfectly okay, and Dante found that it did. Vergil had just admitted that they were related. Everything was fine. Get naked and roll around, he could handle that. He was pretty sure they'd done it as kids too so what was the difference?

Nothing.

Nothing was wrong.

* * *

><p>Besides his bed being really damn small.<p>

Bigger than Vergil's, but they weren't going to fit on it, much less wrestle. Dante found himself rather delighted. If only Trish were here to see that cheap furniture was a great idea.

Minutes later, half-naked and trying to keep his face from burning, he remembered that people didn't fuck sideways.

He took deep breaths. Almost choked. He was half-naked on the wrong end and his brother was sitting on top of him in a similar state of awkward dress, doing nothing but staring down at him with some unreadable expression on his face. The fuck was he trying to accomplish? Work up an erection? He had better work it up enough for both of them because Dante was too busy feeling humiliated, and he didn't even know who he was more embarrassed for.

"I'm starting," Vergil suddenly announced.

The embarrassed one was definitely not him.

Dante braced himself as Vergil lifted his legs. Waited for the legendary feeling of amazement to hit him, or at least for Vergil to hit him and say he'd just been joking, and—

It was itchy.

Well. That was an expectation downer. He couldn't really feel pain, couldn't really feel cold, couldn't really feel heat. Apparently he couldn't really feel getting laid either, and he thought for the first time that high tolerance kind of sucked. How the hell did Vergil even manage to get it up?

It was awkward. What Vergil used to take a piss was in what Dante used to take a shit. It was getting more disgusting by the second and Dante almost told him to stop before they both contracted some sort of disease by combining their dirtiest parts any deeper, but then Vergil moved and Dante remembered that he already had a disease. In his head.

Maybe it was contagious, because the movement suddenly turned painful and Dante made some weird gurgling sound at the back of his throat. And again. And again when Vergil tore through what repeatedly healed, though he still had nothing on Alastor because vital organs tended to be a lot more sensitive than asses. At least those already had holes in it. Vergil was staring at him as if he expected a better response, but for all his murderous intentions he couldn't figure out that agony was the secret to all kinds of responses so Dante thought he could suck it.

"How do you feel?" His voice was casually curious, as if he wasn't in the middle of repeatedly stabbing his brother with his dick.

Dante didn't think that telling him he's had better would be wise, so he just shrugged, though the motion was awkward with his position and his face took on an involuntary grimace when Vergil seemed to go deeper than before. Maybe he was going to mess up his insides after all?

"Okay," he said.

Vergil frowned.

"Well, I mean—it's kind of—"

Dante was about to apologize honestly for hurting Vergil's feelings (the absurdity of the situation would help him keep a straight face), but then wounded man in question _moved_ and fuck, _fuck_, there was something his dick was definitely not supposed to be reaching. His first thought was that spontaneous dick growth was compensation for slow healing, but there was a very painful tearing that had nothing to do with his insides. He could vaguely feel blood spray over his thighs, and Vergil grabbed his head violently as he drove himself deeper.

Foreign flesh connected with bone, and Dante realized that his ass was being ripped in two.

He didn't realize he'd been making horrified noises until blood gushed up from his throat and muffled them, but his hands could only clutch the bed sheets as Vergil held his dislocated legs apart to force himself into what felt like his intestines. The mattress parted and he held on to the springs desperately, frenzied thoughts going in circles—if he'd still be able to walk after this, if he'd ever be able to take a shit again—every thrust felt like the breaking point and fuck, fuck if he'd thought tolerance was bad before, he couldn't remember but he'd probably jinxed himself somehow. Or maybe that was when he'd been young and he'd thought Vergil should get laid, and that turned out to be the stupidest thought of them all—

Vergil grabbed his cock as if to make him concentrate via introduction to a new world of pain. The fucking moron, he was supposed to move his _hands_, not Dante's dick—every brutal yank bought his pelvis sharply upwards, and he briefly wondered if Vergil was going to castrate him on top of crippling him. And the icing on the cake was that Vergil had been watching his face this whole goddamned time, was watching him nearly foam at the mouth and he was actually looking genuinely happy for the first time in twenty years. Was this the 'better response' he'd been looking for?

Then Vergil closed his eyes as if to spite his observations, opening his mouth instead to complete the twin image or something, and—

—forced his legs back into place with a pulverizing force like he wanted the joints to fuck each other into bloodied pulps too, tore out of his intestines, then grabbed their dicks together and somehow managed to move them through his crushing grip. His eyes opened again—Dante wanted to tell him_ I knew it, you bastard_—and after one, shuddering thrust, pressed himself flat onto Dante's stomach, and sighed.

Watched his fluids slide down his brother's face, and Dante had a strange thought that maybe this was what strawberry sundaes looked like when melted.

Vergil lifted himself off. Moved to lie beside him—_huh, guess I don't need a bigger bed_—like he was basking in the afterglow of something nice, not that Dante thought any amount of blood would've put him off anyway. He made a soft, contented sigh, while Dante's heart was jack hammering as if in reenactment and his mushy brain told him he couldn't move his legs. It had all healed by now, but he still felt like his ass would split if he even unclenched his fingers from the bedsprings.

Vergil traced the edge of his still-open mouth, his expression uncharacteristically serene like he'd suddenly become a saint via maiming his brother. Dante must've been the virgin sacrifice. He certainly felt like a mangled corpse.

"Was it good?"

Because apparently his limp cock wasn't enough of an answer, and now he had the nerve to make him feel bad for feeling bad. Vergil's expression continued being wretchedly sincere.

Then some part of him realized that it meant he really did care, and it was at once wonderful and even worse.

"…Yeah."

* * *

><p><strong>Care<strong>

* * *

><p>Vergil: 1<br>Alastor: 0

This was actually my first time writing a 'sex' scene. No surprise how that turned out. (No, you weren't supposed to jack off to it.)

And then I realize that this might be too hardcore for this site so if it is, _tell me_ instead of reporting it and I'll upload it somewhere else.


	5. Safe

There used to be long as fuck review replies, and then I finally used the reply function, so that's why you all suddenly got messages talking about something you read months ago. There was something though (the huge paragraph you'll see below) that I was curious about and thus left it all in a non-PM.

Was part of a reply to _SaYue-San_, before I ended up taking a whole page just for replies:  
>I actually don't get why people think the last chapter was that different—it wasn't sex to either of them, and I didn't write it as a sex scene (despite what I said in the ending notes for kicks). It was the same thing as chapter 3; Vergil gave pain and Dante took it then pretended it didn't matter. He's been staked through ten times (and that's only the documented count) and Vergil outright kills him via sword-through-chest in DMC3—yet suddenly, replacing sword with dick and vital organs with asshole makes everyone go quiet. It's like he can take having everything he's ever loved get brutally murdered or betray him, but tap his ass and lol looks like his life is over. In chapter three he was getting his arm burned off, and it was all fine and dandy—then he has sex and whoa END OF THE WORLD. Was it the gore? Or is it like hentai where you can show a girl getting eviscerated but you still have to censor her vagina? –And sorry for the long paragraph lol, that wasn't a completely relevant reply to you but I'm curious. Assuming people read these review replies.<p>

Irrelevantly, next chapter contains the one sentence why I wanted to write this whole story in the first place, so please motivate me not to give up on this before I finish writing it haha.

And now, relevantly: I'd rather not do chapter warnings because I think it spoils the content (all warnings can be found on chapter 1), but since it seems like it's needed: **Warning**. **Gore at the end.** You'll see it coming, so back out before then if you don't want to read it.

* * *

><p><strong>Safe<strong>

* * *

><p>He still had the ability to take a shit.<p>

The relief was overwhelming, not the slightest bit deterred by fact that he'd have to buy a new bed after all. More good news was that he had a job, which he'd get to after he stopped relishing in the happiness, and on top of that he was able to walk to the toilet which meant he'd be able to walk the demons to their deaths. Ha. He'd save that one for later.

Jobs meant money, usually, and money meant bed. Things were coming together nicely for once and somehow, it was all thanks to Vergil fucking him into the mattress. Which he now needed to replace.

A brief thought told him that he was supposed to make some sort of connection between those two statements, but those moments of strangeness were getting easier and easier to ignore.

He found himself rather giddy for someone who'd just lost a lot of money, feeling readier than ever to kick ass. He couldn't wait to go on the mission, couldn't wait to get the fuck on his bike and _drive_. The desire was bordering on obsessive and was even starting to make his chest hurt, but he guessed it was only natural that after getting his ass kicked or torn he'd want to tear some ass too, whatever that even meant—

Vergil's image suddenly came into view on Rebellion's blade and Dante jumped, hand gripping the hilt so hard at that moment he heard something crack. Goddamn sex was rejuvenating.

"Good morning, Dante."

_Hi._ Fuck. Just say it. _Hey, bro_. He wanted to give Vergil a greeting, but words were rushing through his brain at a thousand miles per hour and he couldn't, fuck, he couldn't say hi to his brother because he was too goddamned excited to kill something.

"…Your hand is bleeding," Vergil said. Dante looked and behold, yes, yes it was, and wasn't that great?

"Awesome huh?" He'd meant to put a pause in the sentence but couldn't seem to manage it. Right, demons needed killing, and he wasn't there yet. That would explain the dread that had begun to mix in with the heart bursting enthusiasm.

Vergil looked unimpressed. "You should clean that."

"Nah, I'm good. I—" Funny that of all the things he couldn't say, he was about to indirectly rub it in Vergil's face that he could heal. "—need to go."

But Vergil was the only one moving, and he was moving towards him. "Then let me clean it," he breathed, expression both kind and wicked.

And then Dante realized that he was acting like a goddamned _lover_, like he was being devious or sexy or some shit and it was hilarious beyond words. But something about seeing him that way made it so hard to smile.

Which was exactly why Dante smiled even harder. Vergil was leaning in now, about to lick up the blood or some other equally creepy action, and Dante wanted to tell him that he killed things with those gloves but then remembered that Vergil killed things with his bare hands. Yet it was so hard to keep himself from yanking back his arm and fuck, Vergil was doing a good thing, _it was a good thing._

And he shouldn't need to convince himself.

"Be more careful next time."

Vergil lifted his head and there was that parental look again. Either he couldn't make up his mind between family and fuck buddy, or maybe those weren't contradictory roles—whatever. Things needed to die. He could think about this later.

He could feel the gaze prickling at his back as he grabbed his coat and holstered his sword, almost stabbing himself as the adrenaline rose to a maximum. On a side note, damn, this door was made for being pushed open. Not even sex was this amazing.

"You're leaving?"

"Yup," he replied, stepping out and briefly wondering why he'd found sightseeing so boring before when the sky was like heaven with a bullseye of gold. He was leaving, leaving this house, leaving Vergil. And having that in words somehow made the sun glow even brighter.

* * *

><p>The job was easy. He got paid.<p>

He felt like shit.

All those people terrorized, the child crying on the sidewalk—and fuck, even the gas money it took to get here—all he did was rush in and give those monsters a quick death. And that wasn't fair, was it? No. They should've hurt, first. It wasn't fair. He'd been merciful and it somehow tasted sour.

He knew he should probably go buy that bed now, or at least the stove he'd never gotten, but there was no motivation in him to even think about it. He needed beer. And pizza.

Which Vergil wasn't making when he got home, but fine, he never really liked his pizzas anyway. They had olives on them. So he was going to order a large—make that two—and he was going to stop feeling so damn _off_.

The sound of someone picking up the phone at the other end of the line was like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel. "Yeah, I want two large deluxe—"

"One," a voice cut in.

The voice of a true asshole.

Its owner was standing at the top of the stairway, looking down at him with a glare—posture brimming with high-class justice while changing his order. The _nerve_ of him…

"Thank you," Vergil finished like he was someone polite, and hung up.

Dante growled. "The hell was that?" And they had better not be having their first argument, not on this of all things. He didn't know how he'd handle it if Vergil ruined pizza for him.

Said asshole was impassive as he walked down the stairway. Then, coming to a stop in front of Dante's desk, he held out his palm. "Give me your money."

Dante stared. "…Are you mugging me?"

"_Give it to me_," Vergil repeated, and Dante vaguely remembered that exact tone back when they were at the edge of hell, talking about the fate of the world. And now they were talking about Dante's fast food change.

How the mighty have fallen. "What are you going to use it for?"

Vergil was glaring now, the expression all too familiar. "You're wasting it." And that was when the nostalgia ended, because Vergil was now trying to look less angry and more heartfelt which did not quite work on his face. "I know how to spend it." He was even managing to look kind of hurt. "I make food for you. I clean up after you. I am your _brother_. Why must you keep seeking someone else?"

Sticking their familial relations in there kind of ruined the whole 'jealous lover' speech, but all jokes aside, Dante found himself feeling the slightest bit guilty that his initial thought to his brother spilling his heart out was an insult. Vergil might be blowing the whole pizza thing out of proportion, but he'd never really realized that he'd been taking him for granted—and still, he continued trying to be nice.

"Let me take care of it." He stared hard at him as if trying to channel his honesty, and for once it didn't seem more like a threat. "Let me take care of you."

Vergil had just hit the jackpot for being the best comedian ever.

He was going to _take care_ of him and pat him on the head and fuck, Dante's sarcasm was having a field day with it. Apparently, so was his face, which couldn't seem to decide on which emotion it should allow to show. Probably none of them. His brain was busy calling bullshit before flashing itself memories of Vergil actually doing what he was promising to.

_Take care of me?_ He wanted to laugh, wanted to scorn him. Wanted to deny that Vergil actually thought of him as family after all the abandonment and murder, after leaving him to die, leaving him to cry.

How did such a monster look so kind?

The pizza came. They ate it together, and Dante watched as Vergil took his money and his bank card.

"I'll take care of you," He repeated that night, placing a kiss on his forehead, rolling up the sheets. "I'll keep you safe."

Dante been too tired to really think about it, but then he didn't usually go to sleep with a smile.

* * *

><p>The first thing Vergil bought was a dining table.<p>

"…Why," Dante asked.

Then Vergil shoved him onto it and followed on top, a devious smile on his lips and god, he was so spontaneous and exciting and Dante's veins were going to _snap_.

Ten minutes later with blood dripping onto the tablecloth, Dante wondered how the thing was still standing. Guess Vergil just had good taste. He'd even bought it specifically red, sweet guy.

The next time they had pizza (finally with no olives), Vergil set the table and placed the food on its center, aligned perfectly with a bowl of salad.

"My ass was on that," Dante complained, secretly not having gripes with anything but the salad, "that's nasty."

"Eat your vegetables."

Fucker.

The reply of _make _me was already half on his tongue, but thinking further there was suddenly a painful beat in his chest and pizza crust was lodged in his throat. Saved by suffocation. He really had experienced everything now.

Vergil looked at him like a disapproving mom because that was what people did after having sex with their brother, gaze somehow managing to be both parental and arrogant all at once. "That's what happens when you eat with your gloves on."

Vergil logic. Wasn't his forte, wasn't anyone's forte, and was generally a waste of time to think about. Just agree and move on.

"It's dangerous." A pause. "…You don't understand, Dante?"

Dante started to nod, then realized how that could be interpreted and thought about shaking his head instead. But that wouldn't work either and—well shit, Vergil was already going into the kitchen. Most likely getting a prop for another one of his amazing life lessons.

The blender he bought out was the definite sign of a damn good teacher.

_Fuck_. He was never going to eat pizza again—okay, disregard that, but damn if he wasn't damn close to meaning it. What he wouldn't give to have one of those rolling chairs to roll the hell out of here…and the blood on the floor would give great friction, too—fuck, don't think ahead—

"Give me your hand."

Dante gave it.

Maybe because he was a nice guy and just wanted to save Vergil the trouble of grabbing it by force and dislocating his shoulder along with it, or maybe because he really was learning to listen and be a good boy. But kindness never worked as expected in Vergiland.

His screaming would be nice proof of that.

Thoughts were gone. Hearing was gone. And well, good news, the pizza crust was finally gone too but he couldn't even remember why it was there in the first place—the only thing that didn't disappear was the sight of his fingers _flying away_ as the blender's blades sliced through them, each digit blazing in sheer flaming agony as blood and flesh splattered onto the walls of the container. And he couldn't even go numb, had to feel it as his fingers were severed repeatedly—he was screaming but he couldn't tell, couldn't care, just wanted the agony to stop, _needed_ it to stop, why won't it fucking _stop_—

The cutting slowed and Dante saw his fingers twitch in midst of the walls of fleshy pulp, not comprehending that what he was seeing still belonged to him until Vergil pried his other hand off the arm he hadn't realized he'd grabbed on to. He slowly felt that he was trembling where the blender had fell silent, a frenzied thought racing through his head that his fingers would just fall off if he dared to even tremble.

"Do you get it now?"

Vergil lifted his hand—somehow managing to not nick it on one of the blades, and held it up to his eyes. The flesh was bathed in thick coats of blood, though otherwise unblemished while the glove was torn to shreds beyond the knuckles. And Dante understood.

Fingerless gloves. Fingerless gloves were the way to go.

Vergil kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "Now you're safe."


	6. Love

Usually I don't apologize because it's free entertainment and the amount of people who tell me they appreciate it is typically small (thanks for the number last chapter though!), but I will this time because I made it sound like I really wanted to write it and then didn't do shit for months. That wasn't a lie—I just had no time. So sorry to anyone who might have been waiting, hope this chapter will be enjoyable enough to make up for it.

**Ar-Ru-Vista-frelia-frame** – The blender thing was about Vergil chopping off Dante's fingers to give him stylish fingerless gloves, and the safe thing was for irony purposes (though on a smaller scale, he's also been technically 'saved' from suffocation via pizza crust). Glad you liked it and hope you'll like this chapter too! :D

**ladysubaru83** – He will soon~

**TemperanceNova** – I guess depravity is captivating? It certainly is to me, haha. You'll see about your speculation xD Glad you liked it! And thanks for reviewing, always glad to see new people enjoying :D

**Semjaza** – The funny thing is that when I planned this story out, there were a few parts (mostly this chapter) where I thought such and such an event would be sick—but then I write it and it feels utterly unexciting when it actually happens. I guess I'm glad it's not the same way for others? (Guess being that said others don't like reading sick things xD) The sentence is in this chapter, though I'm curious as to which sentences you liked last chapter so I'll know what to expand on in the future :D

**Ivory Tears** – You've got enough vocabulary to make me feel all awesome inside xD Thanks for the review/fave!

**SaYue-San** – Vergil's motives will be made clear in more or less a few chapters—no need to understand it now, just enjoy/wince/whatever reaction you usually have haha.

**Edge of the Sky** – Both, maybe xD The happiness goes both ways—it's rare to find someone who enjoys this for the strangeness instead of despite it. Thank you so much for the review! Vergil's thoughts/etc will be made clear very soon.

Next time I'll use the reply function. If I remember.

You'll see why this next line is important later, but for now: this fic either takes place before the anime or ignores that it had ever happened. Also Dante uses an old school rotary phone if anyone forgot/didn't know. And now for a **warning:** when you see torture starting, don't expect it to end before the chapter does. Also someone tell me if I can stop doing chapter warnings or if you guys actually want them.

* * *

><p><strong>Love<strong>

* * *

><p>It was eight-thirty a.m., and Vergil wanted to get laid.<p>

Fucking shit. "Go jack off or something," Dante mumbled incoherently into his pillow. Vergil either didn't hear him or didn't care, hand unmoved on the hem of his pants.

Third time was obviously the charm because he felt like he could just continue on with sleeping, though he wasn't sure if it made him a fast adjuster or a whore. Whatever it was, it didn't change the fact that he was too lazy to have sex—but then again, he _was_ trying to have a healthy lifestyle by Vergil's recommendation here. Saying no was bad for his health.

But saying yes was bad for his life, so he settled for the in-between.

"…Give me five minutes."

* * *

><p>It took a while for him to figure out that Vergil really had given him five minutes, because the next time he opened his eyes it was to see the clock in front of him and reading eight thirty-five.<p>

The maniac took it away before he could gather up the energy to yell at him, but the fatigue had already started to fade. Happily along with the blurriness in his vision, which enabled him to see Vergil's lack of an erection—then, looking up and feeling the relief catch in his throat, the disappointment on Vergil's face.

"Dante."

It was suddenly very easy to be awake.

_Too early_, his mind flashed, _way too early for this shit_. But he didn't know what he was talking about because Vergil was always kind in the morning. Even when he traced his hands up his thighs, stopping at the joint before his hips—always. Even when he tightened his grip until it hurt.

"Why won't you ever embrace me?"

…The hell was this about? _We're not exactly huggy people_, Dante wanted to say, but only before he saw the troubled glare in Vergil's expression. Fuck. He didn't know. It wasn't anything hard, he should sit up and give the guy a hug instead of lying there glued to the sheets, but he—he didn't know. He just couldn't.

"Are you ashamed?"

"_No_," he denied quickly, "why would I be—"

Vergil kissed him, on the lips this time. He loosened his grip and was smiling when he sat back. "Then I want you to tell everyone that we're together."

Dante stared.

The mad expression on Vergil's face was back almost as swiftly as the speed in which he grabbed his legs and _broke them_, twisting, the joints snapping out of place as Dante threw his head back and screamed. His knees, his thighs—he couldn't even tell which part was burning because everything was in such a mess of mind-blowing _agony_, it was almost enough to turn him numb. But that was an almost.

He tried to find his brain as he gritted his teeth, looking towards Vergil with some mix of everything and desperation as he tried to form a sentence. "Who the hell am I going to tell?" God, his voice was a mess, his _legs_ were a mess. "You want me to walk out and announce it or something?" And it was almost funny when he remembered exactly why that wasn't possible, but that was another almost, and the clarity of the reason just bought in another bout of terror.

"I wouldn't make you do that," Vergil said, looking almost disheartened that Dante would think that of him as he held his broken legs apart. "Just tell your friends."

Genius. Vergil was a genius. Yes, he was going to tell all his friends that he was fucking his dead brother, and then he would stop having friends and he'd never have to go through this again. His gaze caught Vergil's pants.

As if.

"Well I don't have any!" he snapped, not bothering to think about how pathetic the sounded when he realized it was at least half true. Trish was still travelling, and Lady only came by to take his money. Which he no longer had.

At least he still had Vergil.

"I saw their numbers on the refrigerator, Dante," Vergil glared, and Dante tried to find it funny how he didn't just call it a fridge, "and heard one of their calls." He tugged on one of his legs as if to make a point.

That only managed to screw his delicate thought process over, so Dante took his next words as not his fault. "Then congratulations, you're a stalker."

Vergil's expression could've been hilarious.

His response, however, was decidedly not worth it.

Dante held back another scream of agony when Vergil yanked off his pants—why the hell had he thought it was a good idea to stop sleeping in just boxers—and used each leg to tie and separate his ankles to the bed posts. He had a tiny moment to regret letting Vergil choose his new bed for him before his shirt was yanked off too, arms pulled back, then tied. A belt he'd left on the floor was used to secure his head by looping around his neck and one of the headboard posts.

_This had better not be a new fetish_, he thought, but Vergil was getting up. And—leaving. He had crippled his brother, stripped and tied him, and he was just going to leave.

"Vergil." Vergil didn't turn. "_Vergil!_"

Vergil's hand was on the doorknob. A pause, then: "I want you to think about what you did."

He walked out.

For a moment, Dante was speechless.

Then, "What if I need to take a shit?" He was struggling, trying to figure out how to maneuvre his arms without breaking those too to get rid of the belt, "Vergil!" Because that was extremely important and he needed to know something other than how his legs were still fucking _broken_ because they refused to heal wrong, and damn it Vergil, he just bought this bed and wasn't going to shit in it, you horrible person.

_You're horrible._

"Then don't eat," came from outside the door. Stupid asshole, he had eaten the night before. Think about what he did? Let Vergil inside the house…

A step, another, and Dante knew Vergil was really going downstairs. And he was still tied up with his legs broken. If he couldn't just Devil Trigger and get out in a split second…around the amount of time it would take him in his current mindset to rip Vergil's face off and risk him never getting up again.

"…Vergil." No response. The previously sobering thought became worthless. "I'll do it. Vergil!" Don't he tell him his hearing's gone bad now too, he's not going to believe it, he's not going to accept it. "I'll call them, Vergil! I said _I'll call them!_"

Silence. Vergil couldn't have gone down all the steps already, he had to be still here, but wasn't answering, won't answer—_breathe_, he told himself, except he couldn't really because of the fucking belt. He was screwed. Vergil wasn't coming back and god, this was a horrible idea, he should've said all this earlier. He was screwed. He was screwed. "_Come on!_" The belt hadn't even tightened but it was getting so hard to breathe—

He didn't know how he missed before that the sight of the door opening was the most beautiful thing in the world, but now he knew, and he apologized to whatever being that cared so that they could stop punishing him for not noticing it sooner. Probably Vergil. He liked all the weird shit.

"_Vergil_," he said, and there was something clogging up his throat from his chest in midst of all the sheer relief but he couldn't cry now because he hadn't called it this time. "I'll call them. Come on, pop my legs back."

"…How can I trust you?"

And there went the messiah halo he'd been emitting a second ago. He couldn't deal with this shit, not now. "What the hell do you want me to do? I said I'll call them!"

Vergil obviously planned the times when he would be the slowest person in the solar system, or maybe that was just Dante's mind for once functioning at a thousand miles per hour because it's been probably five trillion seconds already and Vergil _still wasn't replying_. Asshole, at least be proud that he was thinking so quickly—

"Then call them," Vergil finally said, and it took Dante a few seconds through the rush to realize that it was a completely useless answer seeing how he could barely move right now—"I'll bring you the telephone."

Okay. Fine. Make the calls, get his legs fixed, then shoot himself in the tub until he gets a pool of his favourite colour so Vergil won't want to set foot in it and he can hug himself there forever. Good plan. It'd work. He always made the right decisions in the end.

He steeled himself. He was ready. Thought repeatedly over everything that he would need to say, like _Hey how's it going I'm having sex with my brother_ and it would go over smoothly, no problem. He was so ready he could kill Vergil for taking so goddamn long to bring him a phone when it didn't take half this time to end something's life— so ready, the anticipation probably exploded inside him and left his heart shell shocked, because he was decidedly _not_ ready for Vergil to be holding Rebellion along with the phone.

"Hold still." He walked closer. "I'll untie you."

—But not before jamming a sword through his brother's chest, was the unspoken line. Dante gurgled out blood. Then mourned his bed.

The importance of letting Vergil know that Rebellion was bad for the springs was forgotten when Vergil shoved him over—sword and legs and all—to access his arms. The receiver was in his hand before the blood had even finished rushing back through his limbs, and the numbers before his eyes was a blur.

"Call."

Okay. Call someone, simple enough. Stick his finger in a hole, rotate the dial, feel the severed nerve endings in his legs and chest for around half an hour before it spun back into place so that he could turn it to the next number and really, he really needed to buy a new phone, forget the stove. His fingers were shaking, almost there and—and he missed.

He missed a number. _Missed it_, need to start over. And maybe his head was shaking too now because he was steadily slipping into denial.

A hand on his head made him look up; Vergil's, surprisingly, even though he was the only other person in the room. The touch was soft, and brief.

Vergil grimaced and retracted his hand. "Your hair is disgusting," he informed, "you need a shower. Stop quivering and hurry up."

Oh.

And with that encouragement in mind, Dante redialled, thinking of the shower and how he was looking forward to redecorating it soon. When a voice picked up, he opened his mouth to tell it about his future home improvement plans, but then it mechanically relayed a name to him and he realized that he had reached voice mail. And was supposed to talk about something else entirely.

It was a lot harder to open his mouth for this topic.

"…Lady," he greeted, then drew a blank. "…What's up." And where was that script he'd planned again? Should've written it down—wait, his hands had been tied back then—

Oh right. Oh, _fuck_. The panic suddenly crashed back at full force and he remembered exactly why he was telling his business associates about his new and awesome sex life; because his fuck buddy had broken his legs and told him to. Also he had a sword in his ribcage.

He made some incoherent noise of distress into the receiver, a sound that he might have made before when drunk and out of pizza. He had a small hope that maybe she'll write this whole thing off as drunken stupidity. "So, this is going to sound funny, and it is, and, okay, okay, I—" He was laughing now, and shit did it hurt to do that—_breathe_, he told himself again, but the belt wasn't as big a problem as the sword this time—"I'm sleeping with Vergil." And that wasn't too hard. He laughed again, trying not to think about what he'd just said. "Yeah, I know he's dead and all but, that's the funny part ri—"

"We are _in a relationship_," Vergil interrupted. Yup. Just go with the flow, he was good at that. Dante smiled.

"I meant we fucked lovingly," he corrected himself. Easy. This was easy. He was the paraphrasing master.

Vergil punched him in the face and made him drop the receiver before he could say goodbye, but that was okay because the message recording length had run out some time ago anyway.

Next was Trish. He dialled her successfully somehow even though he was still shaking, except this time from smiling so hard, but at any rate managed to bring it up to his ears and stared blankly upwards as he waited. Rebellion was a majestic tower in this perspective. His mind kept telling him there was something he could do with his free arm in regards to the sword, but he was too busy listening to the phone ring.

—And pick up. _"Dante?"_

His smile froze on his face.

Not a recording. She was actually there. Of all the times she'd ignored his calls.

"…Hey," he greeted, "how's it going?" And there it was; he remembered it now, the script, what he'd planned to say. He could hear Trish's slight inhale on the other end of the line, signalling that she was going to say something, but she was probably just going to ask him if he was drunk for openly caring about her wellbeing outside of a world domination crisis so screw that, he was going to say _his_ line first, he had to. "I'm having sex with my brother."

Silence.

"I mean, with love," he elaborated, looking up to Vergil for approval. A blank stare. Trish was probably mirroring it to her mobile.

Speaking of which... "Can you buy me a cell phone? Or some other handheld, without the spinny thing." He hoped Trish wasn't blanking her mind along with her face, because the fate of his phone was very important. "I'll pay you back." Well, Vergil would pay her back.

_"…You're kidding me."_

Dante frowned. "No, I really need one of those—"

_"I meant with your brother. The dead one?"_ A pause, then, a sigh. _"You know what, nevermind. I have better things to do."_ Like buying him a shiny modern handset, hopefully, but her next sentence was dry. _"Congratulations, Dante."_

Then she hung up.

And lying there, Rebellion jutting out his chest, legs broken, blood on his bed, he let the receiver fall out of his hands and miss its cradle entirely. The dial tone beeped softly next to him as he looked at his reflection on Rebellion's blade and saw, clearly, what had become of him.

So he laughed, because that was what he did when shit happened. It was what he did best, besides murder maybe, and he did love showing off his talents.

_"Congratulations, Dante."_

Yeah. Congratulations.

And Vergil was there to celebrate with him this time.

"Dante," Vergil breathed, his voice a thing of wonder in the amount of affection that radiated from it. He kissed him—right on the forehead, where the majority of his apparently disgusting hair rested on—"Thank you." He kissed him again.

Then reached into his pocket, and took out a photo.

"…You piece of shit," Dante whispered. Eva smiled back at him.

Vergil placed her atop a small dresser, letting her look down at them, propped up by a pile of clothes. "Don't be so vulgar, Dante." He laid a gentle hand on his tensing arms. "Don't you want her to know how much you mean to me?"

Dante would've strangled him.

But then Vergil yanked out the sword and staked it right back, into his _heart_, and it wasn't the symbolism as much as the blinding agony that got him to think, Vergil's right. Why had he reacted so badly? Vergil was right, he was always right, and what was so wrong with showing her Vergil's hand up his thighs and—

"My legs," he grasped at the one string of clarity, "Verge, my legs—"

"I've been waiting so long, Dante." He fisted a hand in his hair and Dante had a small flash about Vergil telling him that it was disgusting and his mother washing it for him—"I'll make you a large pizza after this."

"You piece of _shit_," Dante attempted to growl, tell him _that's not the problem here_, blood gushing up his throat as he tried not to think about mom admonishing him for the language, "I'm not that simple." _Don't look at her. Don't look at her._ He choked on the belt when he tried to turn away, then settled on glaring at Vergil instead. His head swam and blood spilled out his lips. "I want at least five of them."

Vergil might've agreed, but Dante couldn't hear it over the sensation of the sword tearing upwards.

Then it was tearing _downwards_, his heart slicing in a perfect line every time it moved, and Dante realized that it was his _body_ that was moving and not the sword. Specifically, Vergil was moving. Into his ass.

"_Alurrghh,_" he spewed something along the lines of, his coherency ruined by incredulity more than pain as he wondered if they were really having sex with a sword in his heart. And his legs broken, but that had happened once already.

Vergil's tone could've said 'no', but he was Vergil, and he had problems. "Don't speak unless it's my name."

A pause. Then he moved with renewed vigour.

"_Do I look like a dictionary to you?_" Dante might have said, because a dictionary was what Vergil should really be making love to, please someone give him paper cuts on his cock. And he bet Vergil wanted fucking intelligent conversation during sex too—ignoring the whole murder setup—but he could _see_ the next wave of red that splattered out his throat and at that moment he would've done anything, _everything_, just to make it stop.

But everything Vergil wanted was right in front of him.

"I'm going to die," he choked, and it might have been equal parts the blood and the hysteria that made it so hard to speak, "Verge, I'm serious, you fucker. I'm going to die." He thought about the shower he was never going to take or decorate and his mother's photo, still smiling down at him, at them.

"Love you," Vergil breathed, kissing him sloppily on his blood coated lips.

_You sick fuck_.

He might've laughed, or screamed, but did neither because his vocal cords were too busy exploding and withering on their own. He wanted to beat up the warm fuzzy feeling that was forming at the base of his failing chest, but maybe part of it was just because he was close to passing out and away so he figured it was forgivable.

Vergil was close too now, but his eyes were open and he was gazing so incredibly fondly at his brother's dying face. "I love you so much, Dante."

_You sick __**fuck**__—_

But then, crying and humiliated and feeling his heart come to a stop, Dante loved Vergil too.


End file.
